


Toil and Trouble

by water_bby



Category: Robin Hood (Traditional)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5462120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/water_bby/pseuds/water_bby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Becoming a planetary Sheriff meant giving up one's name and personal life.... However, this prisoner knew who he was and who he had been."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toil and Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ser_dontos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ser_dontos/gifts).



“Sheriff! Sheriff! Sir!”

The Sheriff of Nottingham turned, wondering who was shouting at him, and watched the young crewman who had been running down the corridor bend over to pant. “Well?”

“Sorry, sir,” the young man replied, straightening up and attempting to look more professional. “The prisoner is awake and asking for you, sir. By name.”

Now that was interesting. Becoming a planetary Sheriff meant giving up one's name and personal life; theoretically, no one here should know him but by his office. However, this prisoner knew who he was and who he had been. Few were left from the rubble of Locksley who would care, and he could think of none who would be part of the rebellion about the King. “Has the prisoner been identified yet?”

“No, sir. The computer keeps throwing back 'unrecognized' in response to the genetic tests. The researchers can’t even say whether he’s a born human or a clone. And his mask is coded to both physical and mental intent, so we couldn’t get it off while he was unconscious.”

“And now?” The Sheriff of Nottingham suspected he knew the answer, but had to ask. Nottingham was an outpost, away from the power plays of the more politically important planets and not wealthy enough in natural resources or estates of the high-born to attract more than the occasional pirate or two. The members of Nottingham’s forces were more used to breaking up bar fights in their single spaceport or finding lost vacationers in the great Forest that covered nearly all the planet’s land mass than they were to dealing with trained fighters.

“After the first team came out with broken arms and the prisoner's request for you, sir, Sergeant Tillings sent me to inform you.”

The Sheriff’s lips twitched. That was probably exactly what Tillings had said, because Tillings was incapable of forgetting that his Sheriff had been raised in a high-born family, even if that was the sort of thing the Sheriff had renounced upon his appointment. But Tillings clearly wanted him to take over dealing with someone who had seemed to be a low-level rebel and was rapidly looking to be much more interesting.

“Go. Tell Sergeant Tillings I’ll be there shortly.”

He watched the man hurry back down the corridor before resuming his walk. The prisoner could wait until he’d completed his rounds. Routine was important. He’d learned that early, and it was a lesson that had already shown its worth in his new position.

When the Sheriff arrived at the station’s brig, Sergeant Tillings was waiting for him in the small office. Two additional crew members were standing guard in the space that ran between the brig’s two cells. The station hadn’t been designed for long-term incarceration. The brig was a way station for those on their way to the planet’s jail or from the jail to one of the bigger prisons off-planet. This prisoner would be transported down to Nottingham as soon as they could do so.

Tillings immediately yielded his seat to the Sheriff, who simply took it. He’d already lost that contest with Tillings multiple times, and he wanted to know who the prisoner was. Even silent, the video was instructive. The man in the mask had training, that was obvious, though his hand-to-hand style could best be described as “whatever it takes.”

“And then he sent them out, telling them he wanted to speak to Rupert from Locksley. I told him we had no one from Locksley here, Locksley having been destroyed by his kind, and he said, ‘Your Sheriff’s from Locksley.’ So, well, sir, I thought it best to let you know that he might be throwing your name around.”

The Sheriff smiled thinly.”My name, Sergeant Tillings, is ‘Sheriff of Nottingham,’ until such time as I cease to hold this position. Whatever I may have been called before is of no consequence.” Except it did matter, because “Rupert” was the family’s name for him, not the “Robert” of the official paperwork. He stood in the door of Tillings’ office looking down the hall at the prisoner. The height was right, the fighting style was right, even the use of the mask made sense, but everything the Sheriff knew said that the man in the brig could not be Robert, Heir to the Earl of Locksley.

“Tillings, I will converse with the prisoner.”

“Sir, how many…?”

“I’ll be fine, Sergeant. Just broken arms, correct?” Another thin smile, and the Sheriff was striding past the guards and entering the cell. “You asked for me, I hear.”

The man had risen when he’d entered, then relaxed slightly from the fighting stance he’d first assumed. The masked head nodded.

“Why can’t we make a genetic match?” Because this was his station, and he would get answers to the questions he needed answered, even if that meant not getting answers to the questions he wanted to ask.

“Locksley’s computer systems were destroyed with everything else,” the man said with a shrug. "I'd think you'd be happy to not have to answer questions."

The Sheriff closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that it would be unprofessional to either sucker punch the prisoner or hug him as hard as the Sheriff could. The accent was Locksley common, not Kingdom standard, but the voice, the voice had been haunting his dreams ever since Locksley had fallen. He had been certain he’d failed, and here was proof he hadn’t.

“Why are you supporting the forces that destroyed our home, Robin? If you knew I had become Sheriff here you must have known where I was before.”

“Don’t trust the conventional wisdom about Locksley, Rupert. Father was getting dangerous to many surrounding the King.”

The Sheriff shook his head in denial. He couldn’t doubt he'd made the right choice. “You’ll be transferred to the jail on-planet. Don’t injure any more of my men.”

“Of course not. Just wanted to say, ‘Hi, Rupert.’” The man’s smirk was audible. “Have a good day at work. We’ll talk later.”

The Sheriff was happy there wasn’t actually a door to slam as he left the cell, because he was certain he’d have reverted to childhood and done just that. Damn Robin, always insisting on getting the last word. Maybe some time in Nottingham’s jail would make him more willing to speak sense. Would make him willing to go home. The Sheriff ignored the voice pointing out that he couldn’t keep an eye on Robin if the other man went back to Locksley.

When Sergeant Tillings knocked on the door to the Sheriff’s office the next day, he looked like someone who was spitting mad trying to appear merely annoyed. Overnight, the crew of a small ship at the spaceport had been arrested, all of them, for getting into a bar fight. The fight had erupted again when they’d been escorted into the jail, and by the time it was over, the jail staff had been subdued and all the prisoners were gone. While the patrols had picked up most of the other escapees, none of the ship’s crew nor the man in the mask had yet been found. The small ship was also gone, but apparently had landed somewhere in the Forest.

“Thank you, Sergeant. Please keep me informed.”

When Tillings left, the Sheriff laid his head on his desk. Robin was now somewhere on Nottingham, no doubt planning mischief, if not outright rebellion. Becoming Sheriff had meant renouncing name and personal life; being an Heir’s Clone had meant putting aside self for the safety of the Heir. Time to find out what was most important to _him_ , he thought, and rose to begin his rounds. Routine was good; if you kept to your routine, nobody noticed what you were up to at other times.


End file.
